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June, Interhigh Qualifiers
They had just lost to Aoba Johsai. The final block was still burned into the back of Kageyama’s eyelids. He was angry. He was grieving a victory they almost had. He was completely, utterly lost.
He washed his face over and over, but the shame, the bitterness, the disappointment couldn't be washed away.
A heavy, warm hand clapped down on his shoulder.
Kageyama flinched, his head snapping up to meet Daichi’s steady, dark eyes in the mirror.
"Whatever you think, stop it," Daichi said quietly. He didn't offer pity. He stood there, a solid, immovable presence in the dimly lit locker room.
Kageyama looked down at the drain. He opened his mouth, but the words tangled in his throat. He just shook his head, a small, tight movement.
"You're trying to figure out how you could have fixed it," Daichi observed, his voice rumbling with a calm certainty. "You think if your toss was just a little faster, or a little more precise, we would have won. You're taking the entire loss and putting it right on your own shoulders."
Kageyama’s jaw clenched. His shoulders went completely rigid.
"Volleyball is a sport with six people on the court, Kageyama," Daichi said, stepping up to the sink and turning off the running tap. "We connect the ball together. Which means we win together, and we lose together. Every single one of us is responsible for that final point. You don't get to hog the blame."
Kageyama blinked, his wide eyes darting back up to the mirror.
"You don't have to carry the whole game by yourself anymore," Daichi told him, handing the setter a towel. "My job as the captain is to keep the floor solid under your feet. Your job is to trust the rest of us to stand on it with you. Just look up, and set the ball."
Kageyama took the towel, his grip tight. He gave a single, jerky nod. As the captain walked away, the floor beneath his sneakers felt like concrete again.
October, Spring High Qualifiers
The sickening sound of bodies colliding echoed through the massive gymnasium, instantly followed by the sharp, panicked shrill of the referee’s whistle.
Tanaka was sitting up, clutching his shoulder, wincing in pain. But Daichi wasn't moving. The captain was lying on his, eyes closed, his face deathly pale against the polished hardwood.
Everything around Kageyama muted into a high-pitched ringing. The coaches rushed the court. A medic jogged over with her bags. Sugawara was hovering near the sideline, his hands pressed tightly over his mouth.
When Daichi finally sat up, waving them off with a weak, unconvincing smile, a collective breath of relief swept through the stadium. But when the medic draped a cold towel over his head and Kiyoko-san helped him walk off the court to get an examination, a deep, paralyzing cold washed over Kageyama.
It started in his chest and radiated all the way down to his fingertips. His hands felt completely numb.
A sudden, warm weight pressed against his left hand.
Kageyama blinked, pulling his gaze away from the bench to look down. Hinata was standing right next to him. Their shoulders were brushing. Hinata didn't say anything at first; he just slid his fingers over Kageyama’s knuckles, pressing his thumb firmly against Kageyama’s wrist to feel his racing pulse.
"He's Daichi-san," Hinata whispered, his voice incredibly quiet, meant only for Kageyama. He didn't look at the setter, keeping his eyes firmly on the net. "He has a thick skull. He's going to be fine."
Kageyama swallowed the heavy lump in his throat. He allowed himself to hold Hinata’s hand for two desperate seconds. He squeezed tight enough to ground himself, soaking in the warmth, before letting go.
The referee signaled for the substitution. Ennoshita stepped onto the court, holding the number 1 paddle.
The match resumed, but the court felt entirely different. It felt unstable. Tilted.
Without Daichi holding the backline, the rhythm was completely broken, and everyone was reacting to the sudden vacuum of leadership in their own disastrous ways.
Tanaka, usually Karasuno’s loud, fiery spearhead, was moving a fraction of a second too slow. Every time he jumped, his eyes darted sideways to see if he was too close to another teammate, the heavy guilt dragging down his swing. His spikes lacked their usual explosive roar, making them easy pickings for Wakunan’s blocks.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, Hinata was overcompensating. Desperate to fill the quiet void Daichi had left behind, the middle blocker was flying around the court with impulsive, reckless abandon. He was jumping too early, calling for tosses too loudly, and swinging at air with a frantic energy that bordered on panic.
And Kageyama... Kageyama had completely retreated into his own head.
With his foundation gone, Kageyama’s instincts went into a chaotic overdrive. His brain, usually calculating a million different offensive strategies, became hyper-focused on defense and preservation. There was no safety net anymore. Ennoshita was trying his absolute best—shouting encouragement and throwing himself at loose balls—but his receives were slightly off-center, and his presence simply didn't carry the same immovable, gravity-defying weight as the captain's.
He refused to set to Hinata. Every time the orange-haired boy sprinted diagonally across the court, screaming for the ball, Kageyama’s chest tightened. In normal circumstances, he trusted Hinata to adapt against any wall. But right now? If Hinata got blocked, if the Wakunan defense swallowed him whole, Daichi wouldn't be there to dive for the follow-up. Kageyama looked at his boyfriend and only saw vulnerability. I have to protect him, his brain short-circuited. I can't let him crash.
So, Kageyama played it safe. He delivered perfectly calculated, high tosses to Asahi or safe, predictable sets to Tanaka. Wakunan caught on immediately. They started reading Kageyama's plays like an open book, stacking their blocks and easily digging up Karasuno's attacks.
The score gap began to close. The tension was suffocating.
Coach Ukai called for a swap, subbing Yamaguchi in as a pinch server to try and break the momentum.
Yamaguchi jogged onto the court, looking like he was walking to the gallows. He took the ball, his hands shaking so badly he could barely spin it. When the whistle blew, he tossed it up and hit a jump floater.
It was a complete misfire. The ball clipped the top of the net, hovering agonizingly on the white tape for a second before dropping dead onto Wakunan’s side.
A point.
Yamaguchi let out a breathless gasp, but his relief was short-lived. On his second attempt, he completely lost his nerve. He abandoned the jump float entirely, hitting a standard, overhand serve that floated right into the waiting arms of Wakunan’s libero.
Wakunan countered instantly, slamming a spike past Tanaka’s late block.
"Don't sweat it!" Ennoshita called out, jogging over and giving Yamaguchi a firm, reassuring pat on the back. "You broke their rhythm, and that's exactly what we needed. Keep your head up, Yamaguchi."
Meanwhile, Hinata had finally reached his breaking point. He caught Kageyama's eye. his brown ones were furious.
Hinata tapped his chest firmly, then pointed a finger sharply down at the floor. Set to me.
Kageyama scowled, his jaw clenching. He shook his head sharply, lifting his hands and crossing his fingers in a tight 'X'. Too risky. They are marking you.
Hinata’s eyes narrowed into a fierce glare. He signed aggressively, then tapped his own temple, rolling his eyes dramatically. I can jump over them, you dumbass!
Kageyama bristled, his face flushing with irritation. He shot back a rapid series of hand gestures. Your timing is erratic. Stop being impulsive and act as a decoy.
Hinata looked like he was about to physically tackle his own setter. He raised both hands, about to unleash a highly offensive, non-verbal string of insults—
TWEEEEEET.
Coach Ukai, looking like he was five seconds away from popping a blood vessel, aggressively signaled for a time-out.
The team jogged toward the bench. The atmosphere was thick, miserable, and suffocating.
"YA-MA-GU-CHI!" Coach Ukai’s furious roar echoed across the sidelines.
Kageyama heard the shout, but it barely registered, filtering through his brain as distant background noise. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Ennoshita immediately stepped into the line of fire, placing a firm, protective hand on the trembling pinch server's back to shield Yamaguchi from the absolute worst of Ukai's wrath.
But Kageyama couldn't focus on that. He had his own disaster to deal with. Hinata was stomping off the court, making a beeline directly for Kageyama with murder in his eyes.
Before the middle blocker could close the distance, Sugawara darted forward, grabbing Hinata by the shoulders.
"Whoa, whoa, Hinata, calm down! Take a breath!" Sugawara pleaded, trying to physically hold back the orange hurricane.
"Let me go, Suga-san! I need to knock some sense into him!" Hinata squawked. He ducked his shoulder, twisting out of the vice-captain's grip with the slippery agility of a stray cat.
Hinata rounded Sugawara in a flash, marching right up into Kageyama’s personal space and taking a massive breath to finally start yelling.
Before a single word could leave his mouth, a plastic water bottle boinked him on the head.
Ennoshita, having successfully managed Ukai and Yamaguchi, had stepped directly between the two first-years. He didn't emanate the terrifying, demonic aura Daichi sometimes used to keep them in line, but there was a quiet, unshakeable steel in his eyes that made both of them instantly freeze.
Ennoshita glared at Hinata first. "Drink some water," he ordered. "Cool your head."
Hinata snapped his mouth shut, clutching the plastic bottle, completely subdued by the quiet authority in Ennoshita's voice.
Ennoshita then turned his back on the middle blocker, stepping just slightly away from the rest of the team as Coach Ukai started going over blocking formations. He looked directly at Kageyama.
"You're suffocating him," Ennoshita said bluntly, his voice pitched low so only Kageyama could hear.
Kageyama’s brow furrowed in genuine confusion. He looked from Ennoshita to where Hinata was currently glaring at them.
"I didn't even touch him," Kageyama muttered defensively.
Ennoshita closed his eyes for a brief, agonizing second, channeling the absolute patience of a saint.
"Not literally, Kageyama," Ennoshita sighed, opening his eyes and fixing the setter with a sharp look. "I mean with your plays. Your plays are completely predictable right now. You're overthinking. You're terrified of making a mistake, so you aren't using your best weapon."
Kageyama shifted his weight, looking down at the bench. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head. It's not just about mistakes. I have to keep him safe.
Ennoshita, apparently a mind reader, stepped closer, his gaze sharpening.
"What happened to trust?" Ennoshita asked, his voice low but sharp enough to cut right through Kageyama's panic. "Can you trust Hinata only when Daichi-san is around to clean up the mess? Can you trust your own instincts only when it's a safe bet?"
Kageyama flinched, the words hitting him like a physical blow.
"What is the point of that?" Ennoshita pressed, refusing to let Kageyama look away. "Look, I know I'm not Daichi-san. I know my receives aren't as clean, and I know I don't give you the same sense of absolute security. But I am the one standing on the court with you right now, and we both have to work with what we have."
Kageyama swallowed hard. His grip on the towel tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"You can't take all the responsibility just because you're scared," Ennoshita told him, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Hinata doesn't need you to give him a safe toss. He needs you to trust him to fight his own battles. We win together, or we lose while playing our game. It's better to lose when we are giving it our all, than to lose while playing safe."
Kageyama paused a beat, considering the words. He looked up to meet Ennoshita’s resolute gaze.
"Daichi-san told me once," Kageyama started, his voice a rough, quiet murmur, "that his job was to keep the floor solid, and my job was to trust the rest of you to stand on it with me."
Ennoshita’s expression softened just a fraction. "He was right. So let the rest of us do our jobs. And you do yours. Let's work together, Kageyama."
Kageyama loosened his death grip on the towel. The defensive stiffness completely bled out of his spine. He nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement.
"Yes, Captain."
Ennoshita’s eyes widened slightly at the title, a brief flash of surprise crossing his face before he nodded back, his posture straightening with a newfound weight.
The whistle blew, signaling the end of the time-out.
As they walked back onto the court, Hinata was watching him carefully, his brown eyes filled with silent, anxious questions.
Kageyama met his boyfriend's gaze. He let out a long, heavy sigh, letting the absolute last of his paralyzing fear leave his chest.
He stepped up to the net, deliberately brushing his shoulder against Hinata's.
"Be ready to jump, dumbass," Kageyama muttered. His voice was gruff, but when he looked down, his dark eyes were burning with their usual, demanding ferocity. "I'm not holding back anymore."
Hinata’s face instantly lit up. The frustration and anxiety completely vanished, replaced by a hungry, predatory grin. "LET'S GOOOOO."
When Wakunan's serve came over the net, it went straight for the back corner. It was a tough, fast shot, but Ennoshita was already there. It was a slightly messy, desperate dig, but it popped the ball perfectly high into the air, keeping it in play.
Kageyama didn't hesitate. He set the ball with terrifying precision, sending it in a lightning-fast streak across the net.
The ball hit the floor on Wakunan's side with the force of a meteor.
The gymnasium went dead silent for a split second. The Wakunan blockers hadn't even finished their descent, and the libero was still rooted to his spot, eyes wide as the ball bounced wildly off the hardwood and into the stands.
The Karasuno bench absolutely erupted.
"YEAAAAAAH!" Tanaka roared, the hesitation completely vanishing from his face as he slapped Hinata on the back. "Good one, Hinata!"
"Nice kill," Kageyama said. His voice wasn't a roar, but Hinata understood him all the same.
"Nice, Kageyama!" His boyfriend cheered and ran to him for a high five.
Kageyama turned around to head to go for his turn at serving. As he walked past Ennoshita, the second-year was wiping sweat from his forehead, he met Kageyama’s eyes and gave a single, firm nod.
Kageyama nodded back. It was a silent promise.
They absolutely crushed the rest of the game.